


Worth a Thousand Words

by jessalae



Category: Brave (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gifts from suitors require a tactful response. Merida isn't very good at tactful responses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth a Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steelneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelneko/gifts).



> For the prompt: "How would Merida react to meeting her sparkly makeover doppelganger from the Disney Princess merch?" The image in question: http://bit.ly/19oqfIo

Merida struggled to keep her polite smile in place as she stared at the painting. Her cheeks ached with the strain. She shot a sidelong glance to her mother, who raised an eyebrow in warning.

“Well?” Young Macintosh said expectantly. “D’you like it?”

Merida opened her mouth to thank him in a serene and dignified way, and let out a very un-princess-like squawk. She clapped her hands over her mouth.  
Young Macintosh looked confused.

Merida snorted, tried to take a breath, and couldn’t hold it in any longer. She guffawed openly, her sides shaking as she laughed.

“It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” Young Macintosh asked. He looked offended.

“No, no, it’s— it’s really quite nice,” Merida said, wiping away a tear. “It’s just— it doesn’t look a thing like me.”

Young Macintosh looked at his painting again. “She’s got your red hair,” he pointed out.

“Aye, she’s got red hair,” Merida said. “But my curls have never looked so neat as that. Truly, you should see me in the morning—“ at a stern look from her mother, she stopped and cleared her throat. “And the dress,” she continued. “That gold embroidery would be so heavy I’d struggle with every step.”

“Well how am I supposed to know that?” Young Macintosh demanded.

“You’re not,” Merida said. “I’m just giving you some advice. If I tried to put that much gold in the hem of a dress, the skirt would rip clean off.”

“Merida!” her mother said sharply.

“Sorry, mum,” Merida said. She straightened up and crossed her ankles, trying to sit primly.

“Anything else that needs changing?” Young Macintosh asked sourly.

Merida studied the painting. If you ignored the obvious problem that it didn’t look at all like its subject, it was actually quite good. “The belt,” she said finally. “I don’t know where you’ve come up with that — it’s almost like a sword belt, but with a scrap of cloth hanging from it. What am I going to do, flutter my enemies to death? And even more gold! I must have strong legs, to wear this getup.”

“It’s the latest fashion, back in our lands,” Young Macintosh said in a sullen voice. “All my sisters are wearing belts like that.”

Merida felt a bit guilty. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’d like to meet your sisters. You should bring them round next time you come.”

“What, you mean you’d have me back?”

“Of course,” Merida said. “One bad portrait is no reason to reject you.” She looked at the portrait again, and her expression softened. “It really isn’t that bad, either,” she admitted. “You’ve a great hand with color. It’s just— you haven’t painted _me_.”

“I’ve painted you the way I see you,” Young Macintosh said, standing up straighter.

“And that’s very kind of you. But I’d prefer if you could see me as I really am.”

Young Macintosh looked taken aback. Then realization washed over his face, and he nodded. “Understood,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few months. Perhaps I’ll bring my sisters.” He picked up his saddlebags. “Shall I leave the portrait? It did seem to entertain you, at least.”

“Why not,” Merida said. “I’ll look on it when I need some cheering up.”

“Then it won’t have gone to waste,” Young Macintosh said. He bowed deeply to Merida and to her mother, then signaled his guards and left the great hall. Merida looked at the painting again and giggled one last time, then turned to her mother, fearing what she might see on her face.

To her surprise, her mother looked pleased. “Well done,” she said. “You’ve certainly kept him interested.” She looked at the painting and shook her head. “Daft boy.”

“He’s trying,” Merida said. “They all are.”

“You just keep them trying until they’re good enough for you,” the Queen said. “This is your life you’re deciding. Take your time.”

“Don’t worry,” Merida said. “I plan to.”


End file.
